


Thin Walls

by simplysophia



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, early morning omelets because why not?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7241476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplysophia/pseuds/simplysophia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hungry Laurel attempts to cook herself food in the early hours of the morning and fails miserably, setting off her smoke alarm and giving her an unconventional opportunity to meet her next door neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thin Walls

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fanficlet and I was kind of nervous to post it, but I love these two so much that I attempted to join the big leagues and write something. Please let me know if you enjoy it or if there's anything that I can work on to get better in the future.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!
> 
> AU: When a fire alarm goes off and Person A finds themselves face-to-face with their undeniably attractive neighbor. {slightly changed for my writing purposes}

It was going to be a long night.

Shifting through her Discovery files in the early hours of the morning, Laurel was buzzed with more caffeine than water in her system, surrounded by several piles of annotated files, and had too many broken highlighters and pens scattered around her trash can to count.

She looked at the clock on her new wall – _two o’clock in the freaking morning._

Sighing, she went back to work – searching for anything, something, that would help her, a law student trying to do good in the world. Something that would win her case.

The clock kept ticking, and she kept writing. More and more evidence came to light, and she was closer and closer to finally figuring out a way to prove her client not guilty. As she closed another file full of newly-annotated paperwork, her stomach growled.

Suddenly aware of how hungry she was, she sighed. The Chinese takeout she had ordered for lunch the day before was not enough to hold her over throughout the night. Stumbling over boxes and case files, she made her way into the kitchen, rubbed her eyes, and turned on the blinding light.

She had always been a decent cook, making sure that even when she lived in Palm Beach with her family that she would watch their maids make basic meals. Her “skills” included breakfast foods and the occasional dinner, whether it be ramen or quesadillas. Throwing some butter into a pan and then cracking an egg to fry, she figured it would be a minute or two before it would be ready for her to eat. Maneuvering back through a few moving boxes – she had just relocated to her new place the week before – she went back to work, writing and gathering evidence to make a good case.

About a minute or two after walking away from the kitchen and halfway through reading an interrogation with the plaintiff about the defendant, she smelled something burning.

Of course. She had forgotten about the stove.

And as if her night couldn’t get any worse, the blaring of the smoke alarm suddenly started. Looking up with a sudden sense of urgency in her tired body, she ran to the kitchen to see a flaming mess threatening to engulf half of her cabinets if not stopped soon.

The catch? Those walls were thin as hell. She was positive that the people both below and above her could hear her showering curses at her flaming pan, trying to get her smoke alarm to shut up. As she tried to smother the smoke and small fire with a towel, there was a quick but firm knock at her door. 

Shit. She had woken someone up.

Quickly putting the fire out, she ran back through her living room and to the front door, where she opened it and was met with a surprise.

In front of her was a chiseled man, slightly older than her, staring at her and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He wore a tight white shirt, plaid boxers, and fluffy slippers, much to her amusement. The man gave her a look when he saw into her apartment, messy as all heck with papers and manila folders thrown on the floor and all over her table.

“Listen, I know you’re new here, but I’d kindly appreciate it if you didn’t wake me up at three in the morning with your smoke alarm,” he said, dry sarcasm hinted in his voice. “What the hell are you doin’ up anyways?”

She stared at him blankly. “Oh - uh, I’m working on a case. I’m a law student. Laurel, by the way.”

He casually leaned on her door frame and stretched. “Frank. Nice to meet you. Kinda wish it didn’t have to be like this, but whatever helps the new girl get to know everyone. You're damn lucky everyone else is out partying or crashing who knows where, because you'd be hearing from Tracey downstairs otherwise.”

She gave him a slight nod and chuckled. “My bad. Since you’re up and all, want to come in for a second? I'm not going to just wake you up for nothing. Sorry about that alarm. I was trying to make eggs because I haven’t eaten in what seems like forever and I got caught up in a file that could be my big break. The egg kind of burned on the pan and set my smoke alarm off, hence why you’re standin-“ Frank cut her off. 

“You’re rambling, sweetheart. Too much coffee tonight? I know how it feels. Why don’t you get back to work and I’ll whip something up for you in your kitchen. Think of it as some sort of welcomin’ gift from me to you.”

Laurel blinked at him in surprise. First he shows up at her door to complain about her noisy smoke alarm, and now he’s offering to make her food? She didn’t understand his hospitality in _her_ home, but she took it as a kind gesture and waved him in. He took off his slippers by the door and found his way to her kitchen right away – their apartments were identical in construction and right next to each other – and she heard the sizzling of her pan getting cleaned off in the sink and some rummaging around in her utensils drawer.

"Hey Laurel, where do you keep your spatula?" he called from the kitchen, leaning around the wall to look at her.

She once again emerged from her deep thought and leaned back in her chair to make eye contact with him. "Second drawer below the counter on the left side. Plates are above the counter in the two cabinets, and napkins are in a holder next to the toaster."

"Alright. Don't worry, I'm not stealing any of your stuff. Just in case you thought I was into that kinda thing," he said, a hint of worry in his voice.

She laughed. "I don't have much to offer, unless you really like IKEA plates."

She heard a chuckle from the kitchen and then the sizzle of an egg hitting the pan. She prayed that his cooking skills were good enough to prevent another neighbor from knocking at her door.

Hearing his low humming coming from around the corner, she zoned out and went back to work, focusing back on the interrogation details that would give her the big break she needed at this time in the morning.

* * *

A couple minutes later, Frank brought out two plates with cheese omelets on them. Laurel, half asleep and running low yet again on coffee, perked up when the plate was set in front of her.

“Jesus. Don’t you people ever take a break?” he asked, slightly smirking.

She laughed and grabbed a fork. “Sometimes, but not often. This is my reputation on the line here, and I’m not planning on screwing it up anytime soon.”

As she bit in to the omelet, she smiled at him. “Thanks for doing this. You really could have just bitched at me and gone back to sleep.”

He raised his fork, as to offer cheers and gave her a cocky grin. “My mother would kill me if I ever treated a girl like that. Salute." 

“Salud,” she replied and clinked his silverware against hers. 

As they both continued to eat, she learned a little bit more about him. Bits and pieces - he was Italian, his family _actually_ rivaled hers in size, and he dropped out of college because it “just wasn’t for him.”

After Frank finished his meal, he waited for Laurel to finish hers, and continued small talk in hopes to keep her from falling face first into her food. She grew up in a wealthy family, but he could tell that she wasn't close with any of them. She had this cool tone in her voice that hinted that there was more to her family situation than she was letting on. He tried to lighten her mood with stories of his childhood, and they laughed until she finished eating. He took both of their plates back to the sink, cleaned up from the small mess he made, and returned from the kitchen to find her still hunched over her files, folding the corner of a paper while furiously writing something on a notepad. Frank could tell she was a diligent worker, intelligent, and not to mention pretty damn good looking, even in the early hours of the morning.

He cleared his throat and Laurel looked up. “I’m gonna attempt to go back to bed, so I hope you have a good night and at least try to get some sleep, okay?” she smiled and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. He gave her a courteous nod and headed towards the door. As he was about to leave, she called out from the other room.

“Frank?”

“Yeah?" 

“Feel free to come over here and cook anytime.”

He grinned. He may just have to take her up on that offer. “Of course,” he said, and gently closed the door behind him. 

Laurel sipped her coffee and got up to refill. As she went into the kitchen, she saw a napkin on the counter. On it, was a number written in chicken scratch, but somehow still legible.

Maybe those thin walls weren’t so bad after all.


End file.
